


From Darkness

by HaroThar



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Dream SMP - Roleplay
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awkward Emancipation, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, Queerplatonic Techno & Phil, Rescue, Slave Ranboo, Social Anxiety, Stimming, Touch-Starved, Video Game Mechanics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:21:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29795280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaroThar/pseuds/HaroThar
Summary: Ranboo's been a slave for all his life (or at least, as long as he can remember). When a chance encounter with a wanted criminal ends with him cohabitating a cabin in the north, his life gets turned on its head as he is made to find a new life, home, and identity for himself.Technoblade and Philza are kind to him, though, and gently help him through the process. As gently as two war criminals can, anyway.
Relationships: Ranboo & Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade ♦️ Philza
Comments: 131
Kudos: 592





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is, _obviously,_ roleplay characters only. Updates Mondays

Ranboo had been a slave for—he couldn’t remember how long. As long as he could remember. It didn’t matter. He’d been a slave for long enough that he should know better, he _should_ know better, he shouldn’t keep messing up like this, he shouldn’t still need correcting over and over again like a brain damaged whelp that would be better off dragged out back and shot in the—

He stumbled, and it was his fault, because he wasn’t paying attention, because he was thinking (and he should know better than to assume his brain was any good for _thinking)_ and he knew that when his master was taking him places he needed to stay _vigilant_ because his master wouldn’t waste his time making sure his idiot slave was paying attention like he was supposed to and—

He couldn’t even remember what he was in trouble for, and that was terrible, because he likely hadn’t had time to write it down so now he’d _never_ remember and he’d never learn and he’d never get any better and he’d always be this stupid useless clumsy slave and his master would keep on having to punish him and—

He hated being punished he hated being locked in the dark and cold and once the door was shut it was _pitch_ black in there and Ranboo’s mind would start making up fake shapes and whispering fake words and then he would _really_ start to—

“Why I even keep you,” Master groused loudly, flinging open the door to the holding cell and throwing Ranboo in, and Ranboo was so bad at what was expected of him because he yelped and stumbled again and his knees made an unhappy crack as they came down hard on the solid, unforgiving stone of the cold cell but—

His lord’s estate was not an overly large one. There was only one cell for naughty slaves and prisoners alike. Normally it was Ranboo’s to inhabit and Ranboo’s alone, the ominous metal cuffs welded to the walls open and unused, but, but—

Before the door slammed shut behind him, the heavy thud of metal locking into place signalling the start of his stay, Ranboo saw another man in the cell. A _large_ man, with a skull for a mask and broad shoulders, his clothes bloodied and his neck and wrists secured to the walls by the shackles there. His posture forced perfectly upright, unable to slouch or lean forward without suffocating himself, unable to move his wrists even a single inch, actually _locked_ in the cell. Like he was dangerous. Like he was important.

“I’m sorry,” Ranboo breathed into the blackness, for the thousandth time that day. “I—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, muttered, over and over, shaking where he’d fallen, shuffling fruitlessly with just his legs, his hands clamped over his head. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I—” He couldn’t breathe right. Hadn’t been able to breathe since his master had found him doing ___ and had struck him across the face and yelled ___ and Ranboo had tried to apologize but—

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he could never breathe in the cell (right? He couldn’t remember) but someone else was there too now and he was so sorry, to annoy this man as well, to be a panicky little nuisance who should know better he should know better why didn’t he know better by now he was sorry he’s sorry so sorry so sorry sorry sorry—

He was vocalizing again, he knew better than to vocalize, he knew how his Ender sounds caused the hair on the necks of Real People to stand on end and how obnoxious his panicked hissing grunts were and that he should have better control but he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t think and he couldn’t _stop_ and if he wasn’t vocalizing he was apologizing and he knew he was annoying which he’s so sorry for he’s so so sorry—

“Hey, try taking a deep breath, kid.”

Ranboo tried. He truly, genuinely tried. He’d been given an order, and he knew he needed to follow those, so he tried so hard to obey. He couldn’t, not when his lungs wouldn’t fill right and his dizzy mind kept slipping, wouldn’t focus, like gripping at a slime-coated rock in a riverbed, unable to find purchase. But he tried. Nether he was so sorry.

“Just keep working on it; you’ll get there.”

So Ranboo kept working on it. He didn’t work himself up so bad he passed out from too little air, and he didn’t linger in his panic as long as he normally did (he was pretty sure. It _felt_ like he stopped panicking faster than he normally did, when it was just him alone in the dark). He even… calmed down, a little. He was pretty sure. Yeah, yeah, no, he was, he felt calmer. Tentatively, he uncurled, just slightly, just so that his muscles weren’t all wound tight as springs and the blackness of the cold room could touch a little more of him.

“You’re sounding a little better,” the man said, and Ranboo lifted his face towards the voice. It. Sounded almost like praise.

Was he encouraging him?

“Thank you,” Ranboo whispered, swallowing down an Ender vocalization, “Th-thanks to you, thank you, thank you sir.” Ranboo hedged, just a little, just a tiny bit, closer to the man, shuffling towards another body, another person, someone who’d been, been—

Ranboo’s hand accidentally brushed up against body-warmed cloth, a leg or maybe boot, some part of the man, and he lept back like a startled cat, so hard that his back and skull hit the hard stone of the cell wall. He let out a small, pained noise, half whimper half vocalization, before launching back into apologies again. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasped as quickly as he could, a throbbing in the back of his skull from where it had connected with the stone but it was irrelevant in the face of his stupid, fumbling, clumsy, worthless little self. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry sir—”

“Keep workin’ on the deep breath thing, kid.”

“I’m sorry!”

“It’s fine,” the man said, like it really was, like he didn’t actually care that Ranboo had touched him. “C’mon back over. I don’t mind.”

“I, I,” Ranboo quickly remembered that talking and breathing weren’t exactly compatible at the moment, and the man had told him to breathe, hadn’t asked him any direct questions. Breathe, breathe, the priority had to be on breathing, he, he was so sorry.

“It’s cold in here,” the man mentioned, sounding almost idle. Except that couldn’t be right, because he was chained by the neck and secured around the wrists, and bloodstained, and, yes, cold. He was right. It was always cold in here. “I wouldn’t mind if someone who, y’know, isn’t interested in killing me gets close.” 

The man cleared his throat, unable to see Ranboo’s stricken face, his green eye the only (faint) light in the dark.

“Conserving body heat, you know.”

“I, you, really?” Ranboo asked, a gasped breath between each disbelieving word.

“Come on over.”

Ranboo hesitated. But, but that had been an order, so, so he _had_ to obey, right? He started to move, hesitated again, body tense as a hare, then slowly, tremulously approached again. He flinched when his own hand came down on the cold stone, twitched again as his knees shuffled forward.

When his hand brushed again against the man’s leg, he jerked, even though this is what he should be doing, he _should_ be, he’d been ordered to, the man was cold, Ranboo was, Ranboo was—

He set his hand against the man’s thigh, trembling in the black. He was—so warm. Ranboo marvelled at the warmth in the room that shouldn’t, typically, have it. He nudged closer. Then closer still. His knee pressed against the man’s thigh. Then climbed, shaking and stunned, into the man’s lap, his _warm_ legs activating something in Ranboo’s stupid, hole-filled head that made him crave, _need,_ he, he had to, closer, he wanted, this man was—

“Hey!” the man snapped when Ranboo used his shoulder to lift himself up, and Ranboo launched off him like his life depended on it. Like the man was his master, hand raised with the switch between white knuckles and Ranboo could only pray that if he acted fast enough he might reduce the pain that was surely coming—

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m so sorry I’m so sorry I’m so so sorry sir I’m sorry I’m _sorry—”_ he whined, tears budding in his eyes and stinging at the black half of his skin, a pain that would be inconsequential in the face of what he knew would inevitably follow.

“‘S fine,” the man grunted. “Just try not to move my torso, kid. I’ve got a severely limited amount of windpipe goin’ on here.”

He’d _hurt_ him! It was, unforgivable, useless, worthless Ranboo, he couldn’t believe he’d hurt someone, that he’d dared—and someone who’d been _kind_ to him!

“Bruuuh,” the man said, Ranboo jolting with a soft, choked off whine. He was being noisy, wasn’t he? Vocalizing. Probably being obnoxious, annoying enough that man was irate. He wrapped his hands over his mouth and screwed his eyes shut tight, tears stinging behind one eyelid.

But, but the man, he’d, he’d said it was fine, and, and he was _warm_ and hadn't hurt Ranboo or yelled at him or even really chastised him for his blunder. And. And Ranboo was scared, but, couldn’t seem to stop himself from moving closer, again, and touching the man’s leg, again, and curling across the man’s lap, taking great care not to touch anything other than his legs, despite the fact that Ranboo couldn’t see, and was just a useless, clumsy slave. 

He tried to stop vocalizing. It would be easier to do if the man hit him, or, well, kicked him, in this instance, since his hands were restrained and he couldn’t properly correct Ranboo’s behavior. He pressed his face as hard as he dared into the warm fabric of the man’s pants and draped his thin tail over his ankles, curled in tight and clinging like a stupid, foolish child. Well. He guessed that’s all he actually was, in a way. A stupid, obnoxious waste of space. 

But he could be good for this, at least. Sharing body heat. With a kind man who didn’t yell at him. Ranboo could be still and sort of warm and not pull on his torso and try his best not to annoy him with strange, inhuman sounds.

His body was still taut with anxiety but the longer he laid curled over the man’s lap, the less… frantic he felt. He hoped--he hoped he would remember this. Maybe. At least part of it, some small part of this time. He could remember so very, very little, his life a blur that only existed in the moment, but he wanted to remember this.

Maybe if he was very well behaved after he was let out, his master would let him quickly scribble down a note in his journal. That would be amazing.

He was too high-strung to drift off or even doze, but he did hit a strange… plateau, a little while in. The man didn’t try to speak to him (and why would he? Ranboo was little more than an animal), and so Ranboo’s mind… faded into a pleasant haze. Well, as pleasant as it could, while he was locked in pitch blackness and his master was angry with him, somewhere beyond the door.

Some hours later, though shorter than Ranboo was usually left in, the heavy thud of the lock sent Ranboo skittering off the man’s lap and back into the corner, any peace he’d acquired gone in a moment’s notice. His heart pounded in his ears, breathing labored, feet slipping against the stone as he vainly attempted to compress himself further into the frigid corner, eyes wide and stinging as light poured in and made him whimper.

“Alright you filthy criminal,” Ranboo’s master spat, ignoring Ranboo entirely and focusing on the kind man. “Time’s up.”

“Oh, great, I’ve been waiting,” he said mildly, and Ranboo winced as his master’s foot crashed directly into the man’s stomach, making him seize.

“Think you’re a real funny man, don’t you?”

“I’m told it’s one of my best qualities,” he wheezed tightly. Ranboo closed his eyes, but still heard the slap, and slight shift in chains as the man’s neck was forced to the side, even with the collar and restraints binding him in place.

Ranboo stayed curled tightly in the corner as his master and two other men shackled the man’s ankles and wrists and chained them to a cinch around his waist. Ranboo didn’t recognize one man, but the other he remembered as… someone… someone important. Someone who was important in the hierarchy of the city. Probably.

When they dragged the kind man to his feet and shoved him out the door, Ranboo quickly jolted to his feet and followed close on his master’s heels, skittering anxiously just within arm’s reach. His master was part of the group, and usually when the door opened he was supposed to follow, and really, what else was he supposed to do? It wasn’t like he wanted to stay trapped in the cell.

Ranboo might have vomited if he’d eaten anything recently, because as he silently followed along behind his master, he realized that they’d set up an _execution block_ in the yard. 

Ranboo had been whipped there, more than plenty of times, tied to the imposing wooden post that now supported something far worse. He’d seen slaves and misbehaving servants punished on this dirt. But he’d never witnessed someone die. He’d never seen a wooden stand with a head-sized chopping block hastily erected.

His anxiety buzzed like swarming insects in his brain. The first kind person Ranboo could remember meeting, and he was going to be killed while onlookers watched. While Ranboo watched. But what could Ranboo do? He was thin as reeds and just about as breakable, trained to _obey_ and nothing else.

His master forced him to his knees by his master’s seat, Ranboo cowered low to the dirt. His eyes darted anxiously over those gathered in the yard, some sitting, some standing, all of them creating a cloud of malaise that spoke of violence to come. Anger. A buzzing in the air. 

They were here for blood and they would receive it. Ranboo lifted his head to stare at the kind man.

He was chained to the large wooden pole Ranboo was familiar with by one wrist, chained to a matching, new pole by the other. His ankles were left chained together, the cinch around his waist now rendered obsolete, and his head forced down over the block, a stranger’s fist in the man’s long pink hair.

Many words were said. Some were spoken out, loud to the crowd, clearly meant for show. Others were spat against the man’s ominous mask, the dark shadows over his eyes making Ranboo feel almost watched. Haunted. At one point someone slapped him. At another, a crown was mockingly thrown before the block, the man’s ears perking and twisting as the shining metal clattered against the stand.

Ranboo watched, trembling and nauseous, as accusation after accusation was levelled at the man. Theft, property damage, murder, slaughter, each crime was greater than the one before it. At no point was the man asked to speak, or given opportunity to defend himself.

This wasn’t meant to be a trial.

The executioner wore a rough mask, cloth that could be bloodstained without concern, and in his hands was a daunting axe. Heavy, large, _sharp._ Once again someone fisted a hand in the kind man’s hair and forced his head down against the wood, and Ranboo felt the familiar burn of tears against his black skin. 

He didn’t want to watch, but he couldn’t look away. Like every other awful, horrible, inevitable thing that happened in this place. Or, maybe not, Ranboo couldn’t remember any specific instance of watching terrible things happen. He just, he was pretty sure it was right, that he didn’t look away. He couldn’t remember.

The axe was lifted, and Ranboo’s tears spilled over, silent so his master wouldn’t send him up next, his eyes wide, but—

The wooden pole, the old one, the one that had bore the weight of countless ill-behaved slaves, had weathered unknown storms and rain—

It. It got.

The kind man _ripped it out,_ the executioner’s axe colliding with metal chain, and suddenly he had one arm free and a destabilized stand where the pole had crashed into hasty wood.

The man got one good solid punch to the face of the executioner, and then the axe was in _his_ hand and the other chain was snapped, then the chain connecting his ankles, and everyone around Ranboo was _screaming,_ yelling, some running towards the man, far more running away. Bowstrings were pulled but the arrows missed the man, who launched himself into the crowd of people (the very people who wanted him dead, the very people trying to kill him) and the archers suddenly risked hurting far more people than just the man.

And it was the strangest thing, almost in slow motion but simultaneously too fast for Ranboo to track. It was just. Truly baffling. Because Ranboo suddenly found himself grabbed, lifted, and hauled over the man’s shoulder.

And Ranboo. He. He wasn’t, good at things. In general. Even on a good day, when his stress levels were low (at least, he was pretty sure that was how it worked). There was a lot of chaos happening. Lots of sounds, and motion, and none of it really managed to register with Ranboo until he was suddenly inside the stable and he was crumpled in a pile of hay, the man barricading the stable doors.

Ranboo wasn’t very bright. He was actually pretty stupid, which, he was fairly confident he’d been told of, multiple times. Enough times to remember. But he was present enough to get to his feet and help the man with the barricade.

He was pretty sure he was being stolen.

Was he being stolen???

 _(Why_ would he be stolen?)

It felt like he was being stolen. Which, honestly, he probably should’ve minded more than he did. But this was a kind man, right? Yes, right, right, he’d been nice to Ranboo. Hadn’t he? In the cell! In the cell. Right.

Ranboo glanced to the man, who was… tearing up the stable in places. Ranboo quickly pulled out his notebook, his most prized (and really, only) possession, and quickly scribbled down _man kind in cell, kind touch, almost executed, stole me_ and shoved it back into the hiding place Ranboo had sewn into the inside of his shirt. The man either hadn’t noticed or hadn't cared. 

He was setting down obsidian blocks? Using the newly made space to construct a hollow rectangle? Ranboo was confused. He smelled smoke. There was banging against the stable door. The horses were braying, smelling the smoke too. Ranboo’s agitation was making it a little hard to see. A little hard to breathe. But, but the man seemed to know what he was doing, and Ranboo was pretty sure that, if he was his master now, then that would.

Probably be good. Yeah. Probably a good thing. Yeah, yeah, he’d be alright with that, he was pretty sure.

“Let’s go,” the man ordered, using the chains hanging limply off his wrists to spark a light that warped purple inside the rectangle. The stench of magic overpowered the smell of smoke, and Ranboo vwooped, loud, too loud to hide. The man, again, did not seem to care. He simply grabbed a horse Ranboo didn’t recognize (which could mean anything. Ranboo didn’t recognize a lot), and led it through the shimmering, undulating purple. Ranboo. Hm.

Ranboo followed. He was obeying. He was pretty good at obeying, all things considered, especially given the circumstances.

Hm. Okay. That was. A sensation, alright.

It almost struck him as a good thing, that he hadn’t eaten in a while. Nothing to risk coming back up.

Huh.

So this was the Nether! He’d heard of it, before, of course he’d heard of it. There was, in fact, a lot of fire. 

The man used the now-somewhat-busted-axe to break one of the obsidian blocks, the purple magic shattering like glass, and then mounted the horse he’d—taken? Stolen? Was the horse stolen as well? He’d already stolen Ranboo, so it would make sense he’d also steal something much more useful, like a horse.

The man’s hand came down on Ranboo’s shirt collar, instead of his actual collar, which startled Ranboo. But he was kind of used to being picked up and hauled around, despite his height, so he naturally went limp at the grip.

But instead of being thrown onto the strange reddish rock or into a lava pit below or even over the rear of the horse, Ranboo was just… sort of settled, onto the horse, right in front of the man. Side-saddle, except the horse wasn’t really saddled, or bridled, or anything. Just a bit of rope around its neck, then Ranboo, then the impressively large rider.

Ranboo was used to other people being broader than him. Stronger. Thickly muscled or heavyset. He wasn’t exactly used to people being _this_ much larger than him. Even the man’s height was impressive, hardly shorter than Ranboo at all, compared to most humans.

But the man was a hybrid too. He had pig ears. Pinkish skin. His legs were shaped differently from most humans, and he didn’t wear shoes for his hooves. 

There was also the skull mask, but Ranboo was pretty sure that didn’t actually have anything to do with the man’s biology.

Some of the bloodstains on his clothes were fresh.

Hm.

Oh boy.

“Keep your tail out of any lava we pass.”

Oh _boy._

Ranboo curled his tail up around the man, the tangled and tattered fluff at the end resting near the man’s hip. He tried to balance but found it hard once the horse started moving.

“Um, sir, uh, sorry but, um—” His teeth clacked as he shut his mouth, wincing at how _stupid_ he sounded. Why did he ever bother opening his mouth at all?

“Yeah?”

“Can I—your torso, since you’re not collared anymore, can—”

“Go ahead.”

Ranboo wrapped his arms around the man’s waist, his much broader arms around Ranboo and gripping the horse by the withers, and Ranboo found he had nowhere to put his face except up against the man’s shoulder.

He smelled like blood and sweat. Ranboo probably should have minded more than he did. Not to say he didn’t mind, because, gosh, this was, absolutely terrible, and terrifying, and a terror, everything, all of it, he should update his memory book soon, before he forgot anything important, because getting stolen was a big deal and he should probably write that down, but, also, this man hadn’t hurt Ranboo yet, that he could remember. Ranboo’s face kind of hurt where it was pressed against the man’s shoulder. But Ranboo got hit pretty often, anyone could have done that. Including the man, he guessed, but also! Anyone else! So it was really up in the air whether this man had hurt him or not. He should write it down. But not, not with the fire everywhere. He couldn’t bear it if his book got burned.

The terrain was awful, here, and more than once the man dismounted to collect the strange red, rocky dirt and build a two-block-wide bridge, ordering Ranboo to stand still and hold the horse by the lead so it didn’t spook or wander off. Which, hh, _oh boy!_

And riding across the bridges! Wow! He hated it so much! Certain death on either side, lava filling the space with a haunting glow. And there were monsters! Zombie pig men and strange white blobs and molten slimes and! Ranboo! Hated this! The man was smart, and good at avoiding the worst of the mobs, but occasionally he would sink the rapidly-deteriorating axe into another creature and Ranboo would shudder and cling to the man’s waist all the tighter.

Ranboo only realized he’d been vocalizing _the whole time_ after they’d spent _hours_ in the Nether. He briefly considered trying to stop, but his anxiety was already bad enough to distort his vision and leave him lock-limbed, semi-immobile, if he didn’t self-regulate somehow he was pretty sure he would _die._

It was nothing short of a miracle the man hadn’t brought it up. Ranboo needed to write that down, that he needed to thank the man for his patience with him. Somehow. He’d figure something out.

The terrain slowly shifted, paths already made, stairs that weren’t naturally formed, and eventually smooth stretches that the horse could move quickly across. 

At the end of it all was another portal, the magic glow almost friendly compared to everything else Ranboo had witnessed. 

The portal left him disoriented, glad that he was technically sitting, _dizzy_ in a way that might have been hunger and dehydration, might have been magic. He blinked blearily, and for a terrifying moment his vision didn’t clear.

But then the fading sunset came slowly into focus. The horse broke into a canter, tired but ready, clearly, to be home. They passed through an impressive stretch of farmland, what looked, in dusk’s heavy shadows, like potatoes growing in their fields. More fields stretched out much farther on the other side of a modest farmhouse, which had clearly been ransacked, signs of a struggle on every aspect of the building from the broken windows to the door hanging off one hinge to the mess scattered everywhere inside.

The man sighed heavily, Ranboo flinching. But he took out none of his ire on Ranboo, just dragged his torn mattress off the splintered bedframe and draped the bedding over it in the corner.

“Catch some sleep, kid,” the man ordered, jerking his thumb at the pile. Ranboo jolted. “You can snag a few hours while I pack, but then we’re leaving again. Probably in the middle of the night.”

“I, you, I can, help?” Ranboo offered anxiously, the idea of _sleeping_ while his new master(?) did work throwing his very bones into discomfort.

“You’re obviously exhausted,” the man dismissed, “I was gathering my energy during my time in that cell and you spent it in an anxiety attack.”

“I can—”

“You’ll be more useful if you don’t fall off the path in the Nether.”

Ranboo clicked his jaw shut and nodded, thoughts of _useless, worthless, cumbersome, burdensome, helpless waste of space_ making him curl in on himself as he went where he was directed.

The man left to tend to his horse, and Ranboo quickly snatched his journal from its hiding place, and blinked when he saw what he’d already written there. Had he—had the man allowed him? No, probably not, he must have just snuck a moment, like he was doing now. 

_man kind in cell, kind touch, almost executed, stole me_  
_rode horse through nether, man didn’t hurt me, arrived at ransacked farmhouse, ordered me to sleep while he packed_  
_let me vocalize, hasn’t hurt me at all yet???_

Ranboo couldn’t be sure, of course. But that felt right. Yeah, yeah. That seemed right. Probably. He hid it away, then cautiously laid down on the bedding. Even torn up, it was softer than Ranboo was used to, and the blankets smelled like the man’s shirt did, underneath the sharp scent of blood.

Despite himself, Ranboo was asleep before the man had even returned from taking care of his horse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/constructive criticism always appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry but you're going to have to deal with Ranboo calling Techno "the man" for three chapters bc social skills are nonexistent in this house rn and this story is Ranboo's POV XD

When he woke, moonlight scarcely cutting through the deep shadows, he jolted, his heart spiking into overdrive in an instant. The man retracted his hand from Ranboo’s shoulder with an “easy there” as Ranboo cowered, covering his head and neck as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.

He—

Okay, okay he remembered the man, sort of. He was—stolen, right, yes, he’d been stolen by the man, who was… nice? Ranboo was pretty sure this man at the very least wasn’t terrible to him. He, he was fairly certain that was right? Yeah, yeah probably. It sounded right.

“Sorry,” he whispered, getting his arms under him and pushing himself up. He didn’t recognize this place. Did that matter? No, wait, yes, he did, the farmhouse. Right right right.

“Don’t worry about it,” the man grunted. Ranboo looked around, eyes skittering quick, finding the chests all opened and picked over, bags resting near the broken door. Ranboo blinked as his eyes caught on a deeper shadow. Had that trap door always been there? “Time to leave.”

Ranboo shot up to his feet, nodding, and helped the man carry the packs out to the stable. The horse looked distinctly less than pleased to have its sleep interrupted. “Go grab the rest,” the man ordered, working on the bridle and saddle. Ranboo scurried off, back into the dim lit building, and did as he was told dutifully, until the last bag. 

The man hadn’t come back inside since he’d started with the horse. Ranboo stood next to the bag, listening to the sounds of the man lifting packs and securing them to the horse. If he was fast, surely he could—probably—just real quick—

He snuck his book out, skimming over the words swiftly as he could in the dim moonlight. Okay, right, right, the punishment room, the execution, the Nether. Right, okay, okay. _Left during night_ he penned quickly.

“So it occurred—”

Ranboo couldn’t bite down the scream fast enough, wailing like a full-Enderman in pain, jolting away from the doorway like a shot. He hadn’t heard him approach at all! And his book was out, his book was _still out,_ the man would see it and, and, and—

He curled up on the floor, arms hugging his journal to his chest, tail curled around his legs as he stared up at the man, eyes stinging with unshed tears, trembling and waiting for the worst, for the _inevitable—_

“Easy,” the man said with lifted hands, a half-surrender, and Ranboo still flinched. He bowed his head and curled ever so slightly tighter around his book, and screwed his eyes shut.

“Easy,” the man repeated, “uh.” Ranboo trembled, otherwise immobile. “What, what do you have there?”

Ranboo’s shoulders hitched. Please, he didn’t want to forget, he didn’t want to forget. The journal was the only thing that let him exist in any moment other than the present, he didn’t want to be left unmoored and confused like before he’d gotten it. He couldn’t remember the exact way his life had changed once he’d started writing things down, but he remembered that his life _had_ changed.

“My, m-memory book,” Ranboo answered quietly, because he’d been asked a direct question and he had to answer.

“Okay?”

For a silent moment, the only movement in the ruined house was dust particles in the moonlight. 

“I’m uh, not going to take it from you.”

Ranboo’s head snapped up, blinking hard. The man was still near the door, tall and broad and cast in shadow.

Really?

“I just, wanted to say that we’re heading somewhere cold, so you’re going to need different clothes.” The man gestured to an opened chest. Then he seemed to think better of it, and went to it himself, pulling out a couple different items.

“They’ll be a weird size on you, but we can fix ‘em later.” The man held out the clothes, Ranboo frozen with shock and disbelief. 

Really?!

He stared at the cloth, looked up at the man, whose already shadowed eyes were little more than black pits in the skull’s sockets, and then back down at the clothes, gingerly stretching an arm out and taking them.

“So uh, yeah, get dressed. We’ll figure out something more permanent when we get where we’re going.”

Ranboo did not know where they were going. Ranboo did not ask. The man slung the final bag up over his shoulder and left, Ranboo alone with his memory book untouched (unread, why hadn’t the man wanted to read it?) and clean clothes.

Actually, the man had changed out of his bloodstained ones too, and was wearing a cape now. Or at least, Ranboo was pretty sure he hadn’t been wearing a cape before. It was big, fluffy at the collar.

Daringly, far too daring for someone who’d just nearly lost his most prized (and only) possession, Ranboo flipped his journal open again and wrote _he knows about the book, didn’t read it._

He got dressed quickly, the cloth sturdily woven and thick. It wasn’t as soft as it looked, but it was clearly meant for practicality, and nicer than Ranboo was used to. And he got a coat, too, which he hesitantly slipped on.

There were no interior pockets, much less the sort that was large enough for Ranboo’s book, so he glanced nervously at the door, stripped off the coat and shirt, and slipped his own back on. It seemed a shame to press the crude cloth against his skin when the other was so much nicer, but he didn’t want to have to carry his book in his hands.

Redressed again, Ranboo scurried to the stable where the man was petting down the muzzle of the horse, murmuring quietly. He stopped when Ranboo arrived, staring him down. Sizing him up, finding him lacking. Ranboo was always found lacking.

“You don’t need the coat just yet,” he stated, “We’re going through the Nether first.” The man tapped where his own coat was slung over the horse’s saddle, and Ranboo nodded and added his alongside it.

Well, not _his_ coat. The coat the man had designated for him.

Ranboo followed nervously at the man’s heels when he started walking. He wondered briefly why the man didn’t ride, except the horse was already pretty heavy-laden, so that made sense. Yeah, that made sense actually.

Ranboo still didn’t know the man’s name. Right? Right, no, he’d checked his book just before, and if the man had ever told him his name, it had been when Ranboo couldn’t write it down. Probably. Had the man ever told him his name? He didn’t think he did. Ranboo would just have to hope that he was never expected to address him as anything but “sir,” which was what he’d done with people he _did_ know the names of, so that would be fine. Yeah, yeah that would be fine.

The magic of the portal didn’t feel… _as_ bad the third time around. It still left everything woozy and distorted for a moment after stepping out, and the blast of heat didn’t help, but Ranboo wasn’t going to fall over or anything so hey! Points to him. He kept close to the man, who guided their way, muttering to himself. Something about a roof? And a scarcity of access points. Ranboo didn’t know. It wasn’t his job to know. Or his place.

There was so much lava.

If Ranboo had thought a couple hours while riding horseback had been bad, this was significantly worse. They spent what must have been a whole day on their feet, taking semi-frequent breaks to sit and drink water, which Ranboo hesitantly declined. The man offered him slices of melon instead, which Ranboo _could_ ingest without burning himself, and he gratefully accepted.

Even with the extra food and… honestly unprecedented level of hydration, Ranboo found the journey arduous. It was hot, save sparse greenish-blue biomes where the temperature dropped to something Ranboo might consider “tolerably warm.” The horse was cranky, which made Ranboo anxious. Certain death and powerful mobs were every direction Ranboo looked, which made him more anxious. The man was quiet, and broad, and taller than most people, and wore so many iron weapons, and he made Ranboo the most anxious of all.

Except he’d also been uniformly kind to Ranboo, and only spoke to say “watch your step” or warn Ranboo of danger, and kept offering melon slices. And, well, he hadn’t hurt Ranboo yet.

Right?

No, yeah, that was right.

Probably.

Ranboo was worked hard as a slave, but at least there was usually _some_ variety to his tasks, rather than just walking and climbing and climbing and walking. In the blistering heat. He wasn’t sure how the man did it, since he would also take out his pickaxe and build bridges on top of it all, leaving Ranboo to stand and hold Carl.

It seemed sort of dumb that he learned the horse’s name before the man’s, but if he wanted Ranboo to know his name he would have told him by now. Or if Ranboo had forgotten his name, he wouldn’t make him angry by bringing it up.

Finally, _finally,_ the man started laying down obsidian blocks. Ranboo held onto Carl’s reins and tried to look less-than-dead on his feet.

“Put your coat on,” the man ordered, shrugging on his own underneath his furred cloak (and _how_ was he wearing that in the Nether?). Ranboo nodded and complied, the added layer positively miserable, but hopefully soon fixed. He followed through the portal, heat and magic dizzying, and then yelped at the _blast_ of cold on all his senses.

“Easy,” the man hushed. He grabbed Ranboo by the arm, and Ranboo braced, but he only pulled Ranboo away from—oh, the edge of the ice. There was, well, either an ocean or a large lake, behind him. Ranboo wasn’t sure which, since, well, he couldn’t really see the other side, but also his eyes weren’t exactly that good so. Could go either way.

Wait no, the smell. It smelled weird, not like a lake, so, probably the ocean? Yeah, yeah, weird smell probably meant it was the ocean. Cold and salty and strange. 

It was already growing dark again.

They really had spent the whole day in the Nether.

The snow crunched under his shoes, untouched save for occasional rabbit tracks, and he shivered as his body was forced to rapidly adjust to an _intense_ change in temperature. He yawned, his jaw clicking, and very intentionally did not stumble in the new terrain. 

He’d never seen snow before. That he could remember, at least. Maybe he had. Actually he probably had, and he’d just forgotten. But either way. It was kind of nice, pretty.

“Here should be good,” the man said just as soon as they were out of sight of the portal. As he flung everything off Carl onto the snow Ranboo glanced around, seeing nothing of note. Trees, a small pool of half-frozen water, a rocky hill that flattened out to where they were standing.

“Sir?” he asked timidly. The man looked at him, but failed to elaborate.

The two stood there, staring at one another, for a long moment. Ranboo’s cheeks flushed, ears flattening.

“Did you uh, did you have something to say?”

Ranboo cleared his throat. “Here should be good for what, sir?”

“Oh,” he said softly, “Gotta build a new house. Can you start digging a rectangle, maybe… 10x15 ish? I’ll go get some stone and wood, we can throw down a foundation, some walls, and a stable, then we’ll be done for the night.”

“Yes sir.”

Ranboo was genuinely boggled by his stamina. He took the busted axe he was handed, since the man was using the pickaxe for stone and his own, nicer axe for wood, and set to work.

He felled a nearby tree and built a crude shovel hastily out of the wood. It was far, _far_ from elegant, but it’d do the job. It wasn’t like he could just hack at the ground with the axe, after all. He’d dug out the majority of the foundation when it started to gently snow, and he heard the man curse.

“Okay come help with the trees when you’re done!” the man called, and Ranboo answered back with a “Yes sir!”

He was exhausted, but he had worked when exhausted before. He was also cold, and his wrists and ankles went uncovered thanks to his own absurd height in the borrowed clothes. He could be good, though, he wanted to be good. So bad. He would push through it. He wouldn’t give the kind man any reason to stop being kind to him, he could manage that at least, right? Surely at least that.

The dilapidated axe finally broke after only a few trees, and Ranboo felt frustration swell in him.

And fear. Because now he had to say that.

“Sir?”

A grunt.

“The axe broke.”

The man handed over the stone he’d gathered. “Go lay the foundation, I’ll be over in a sec.”

Ranboo nodded and hurried to do just that, clearing the snow that had already fallen into the shallow hole. True to his word, the man arrived not long after, and the walls were crudely hewn but they cut off the wind and snow. Ranboo was tasked with the roof while the man got a fireplace and chimney working, then went out and got the stable built. He hauled in the packs as Ranboo finished, and lit a fire.

“Okay, that should last the night,” he said, probably to himself. “Bed. God, okay.”

The man rubbed up under his mask, probably his eyes. Ranboo wasn’t sure how he was standing at all, right now, actually. Ranboo barely was, and he’d had a nap between… he’d had a nap! The man had, hm.

Ranboo quickly checked his journal.

Yeah, the man had been awake since the punishment room, which was the first time Ranboo had met him, which had been a day and a half ago! And Ranboo doubted he’d slept much before that, either.

It was kind of terrifying actually?

“Sir?”

Another grunt.

“Do you—if there’s anything else that needs done, I can do it while you sleep, sir. I, I rested more recently than you have.”

The man ticked off his fingers quietly, almost under his breath but loud enough for Ranboo to hear. “Carl’s fed and stabled, the stable shares a wall with the fireplace, the chimney works, the wind and snow are kept out, the packs are inside…” he spoke louder, “We just need a bed, kid. Floor’ll leech heat if we sleep on it. Then it’s lights out for both of us.”

“Yessir.”

Ranboo watched the man pull out a crafting table from a pack—actually he pulled out an entire stack of crafting tables, but only placed down the one—and some wool, which he worked into a single, large bed, Ranboo helping as directed. They set it directly in front of the fireplace, Ranboo’s body seemingly sensing how _close_ he was to laying down and not moving for a blissful, blissful stretch of unconsciousness. His limbs felt weak, heavy, and the man sat on the mattress and pulled off his boots.

“Take your shoes off and get in. We’ll make you one tomorrow.”

Ranboo hesitated; the same bed..?

“Sir?”

The man grunted.

“In, in the bed with you?”

The man paused a moment, face turned away, and Ranboo’s heart leapt into his throat. He’d done it, he’d finally pushed the man past the last of his patience, stupid idiot slave that asked moronic questions because he was too dumbshit to figure it out on his own—

“‘S cold, you know,” the man said, his voice still low and calm, though stiffer. Ranboo couldn’t help but read the stiffness as Ranboo standing on the man’s last nerve, he should’ve pieced that together on his own. It _was_ cold! Very much so! The fire wouldn’t warm the space for a while yet, it made sense to conserve heat, to share it. Ranboo’s master was being smart.

Still, at the edge of the bed, he hesitated. But no, this was what he was supposed to do, _supposed_ to do.

Ranboo slipped under the heavy comforter on the side farthest from the fire, conscious of his breathing, of his heart beating in his bird-thin chest. While they both fit, he found himself right on the edge of the mattress but still pressed up against the broad man. He was. Warm. Which, during their journey, Ranboo would’ve hated, because the Nether was so hot. But now they were someplace that was so cold. And the man was still being kind to him.

He should know better than to press his luck…

But he _didn’t_ want to forget this.

“Sir?”

A tired grunt.

“May I write in my memory book, sir?”

“I do not care.”

Ranboo nodded a little and rolled (well, more like shimmied) over so the firelight landed on the pages.

_man kind in cell, kind touch, almost executed, stole me_   
_rode horse through nether, man didn’t hurt me, arrived at ransacked farmhouse, ordered me to sleep while he packed_   
_let me vocalize, hasn’t hurt me at all yet???_   
_left during night_   
_he knows about the book, didn’t read it_   
_spent day in Nether, fed melons, built house and stable in snow biome,_

He stared at the page. He felt like there was something else he wanted to write down, something important. Something he should remember. 

_man still being kind to me, let me sleep in same bed,_

There was something, something else, something _important!_

_he is warm_

Ranboo nodded, just a tiny one, to himself, and stowed away the book again with a self-satisfied “aah.”

He froze. Had he been vocalizing the whole time again? No, surely the man would’ve brought it up, after so long, right? This was just a fluke. He probably hadn’t. Would he have noticed if he was? Ranboo started to tremble. He had been. He wouldn’t delude himself, of course he had. He was such a bother, such an incredible annoyance. A truly useless slave, couldn’t even follow basic orders, an irritant, a nuisance, only good for causing problems.

“Go to sleep.”

A strong arm draped over him, pulling him away from the brink of his ill begotten thoughts, deeper into warmth. Ranboo twitched at the contact but relaxed into the heat and gentle touch. His body _craved_ this kind touch, that didn’t hurt and wasn’t a cruel prelude to something worse. He rolled back over, pressed in closer and nuzzled his face in against the man’s collarbone. 

Met with no displeasure, Ranboo timidly stretched his own arm around his waist, the other pinned between their bodies and gripping lightly at his shirt. He bit down on a happy little vwoop and wriggled closer. It was warm here. He was, he was being held. The man shifted, his other arm slipping under Ranboo’s laughably lightweight body and he hugged Ranboo.

Ranboo, quite literally, could not remember the last time he’d been hugged. It made something shuddery and aching in his chest go all warbly and tight-hot-limp-shivery. He wiggled closer again, despite already being basically pressed flush against him, his spindly legs curling around the man’s much larger one and his tail twining up and draping over the man’s hip.

He smelled nice. Masculine and “heavy” in the way that smells were heavy. His arms were very present against Ranboo’s frail body, the weight of them forming swaths of pressure that grounded Ranboo. Made him feel, feel, the opposite of unwanted. Which, he guessed, was wanted, but he wouldn’t be _that_ presumptuous. He was just a warm body in a cold room, but that was kind of hard to remember when he could feel the puff of the man’s breath against the part in his hair, feel the warmth radiating off of him, trapped beneath the blanket, feel the places where their bodies pressed together and _none_ of it was painful.

Ranboo closed his eyes and tried to commit this to memory. He tried _so hard_ to put this somewhere in his sieve of a brain where it’d stay. He wanted to remember this. He wanted some piece of this moment—warm, held, unharmed—to carry on with him into the future.

He did not remember falling asleep.

Which, sure, he normally didn’t, but like, he could usually at least recall a vague _idea_ of, yknow, stuff and things. But when he woke up, curled in close to the man’s chest with strong arms around him still, he had _no memory at all_ of falling asleep.

He did—he did remember the night before, though. Part of it. A really good chunk of it, actually. He smiled to himself, his breath hitching a little. The little memory stuck, it had made it into longterm, and now his brain had a warm little glow in it that Ranboo could brush his mind up against and recall when he needed something kind to cling to. He had very, very few memories he could do that with. He was glad last night could be one of them.

The man was still asleep. Ranboo moving would probably wake him up, and that, that was definitely off the table. No siree bob Ranboo was not doing that. No way. He was going to stay exactly where he was and not move and not even really breathe all that much until the man woke all on his own.

Plus, like, it felt nice. Ranboo’s body generally healed pretty fast, especially when he had enough to eat, which he had (he was pretty sure) so he was only the tiniest bit achey. And the bed was warm, and he just knew the world outside the bed would be—definitely not that. And he was starting, just starting, to associate the man’s smell with feeling—almost safe. Safeish. Safe-adjacent. 

And it really… had just been _so long_ since someone had touched Ranboo without hurting him. Who knows since he’d been held. He didn’t want it to end. So he let himself doze.

The second time Ranboo woke up, the man was gone. He slipped out of the bed, shivering when his feet hit the cold stone, and sat to quickly get his shoes back on. That finished, he bundled his coat around him and moved towards the door. He shouldn’t be sleeping when he could be doing work. He, oh. There was a note.

_eat whatever_

Hm. Ah. There was also a little arrow drawn towards the packs, which. Hrm. Okay? Okay, Ranboo could, Ranboo could do that.

He dug through the inventory, and, and maybe since the note had said “whatever” it meant it was okay that Ranboo didn’t just eat the first thing he saw (which was many, many stacks of raw potatoes, filling up a whole bag’s worth of inventory). There were melon slices, which Ranboo, hm, he was pretty sure he liked those? He checked his notebook.

Maybe because he’d eaten them in the Nether, now he liked them more than he had? That sounded possible. There were apples, too, and golden apples which Ranboo was Never Going To Touch Or Even Really Look At. Nooooo sir, no sir. Those were rare. Important. Golden carrots, too, which, wow.

Hadn’t the farmhouse been ransacked? Wouldn’t people have stolen these? Ranboo wasn’t sure how or why they would’ve missed them.

Ranboo took an apple and hunk of bread and then, because, because the note had said _whatever,_ Ranboo… selfishly took another hunk of bread. It probably made him ungrateful, but he _was_ grateful! He felt so much gratitude. And so little hunger. Which he was grateful for.

He pulled out his notebook and jotted down _told me to ‘eat whatever’_ because it was a funny little observation, and also kind of the man, and Ranboo wanted to remember it. 

Outside, Ranboo discovered that the man had fortified the stable (and it looked really nice, actually, significantly nicer than the house currently was) and thrown down bedding. Carl was munching away blithely, ears flicked towards Ranboo but clearly not actually caring all that much. Ranboo did not want to get closer to the animal than he absolutely had to, and so continued his search for his new master.

The nearby woodlands had been pushed back quite a bit, spruce saplings planted all around with the telltale sign of someone who’d been working. Probably a lot of that had happened last night. Ranboo heard the sound of footsteps and oh! There was the man. He was building a second floor, it looked like.

“Sir?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I help?”

“Yeah.”

So under his direction, Ranboo set to work on a stove, another bed, a cauldron, another pickaxe, another regular axe, a less-garbage shovel, a hoe, and a large number of chests. As he crafted, the man finished off the second floor, altered the first floor’s walls so they were more than just plain wood, rigged the chimney system through a second fireplace, and set up alchemy stands that Ranboo was too daunted to touch.

The man walked Ranboo through, step by step, how to care for Carl. He took greater care with that than anything else he’d asked Ranboo to do, and so Ranboo tried his best to focus. He could tell this was important.

“Do you need to write it down somewhere?”

Ranboo cringed, but nodded. He didn’t _seem_ angry with Ranboo’s faulty memory, with his _need_ to have things written down, but a botched job (especially with the man’s valued horse) would certainly bring down the man’s ire. Ranboo wasn’t going to risk it and try and claim he would remember (which he wouldn’t). Ranboo moved to pull out his memory book, but the man was walking past him, back inside.

“Here, use a different book so it’s all in one place.”

And oh boy! Ranboo’s eyes were wide, ears perked and tail twitching, watching the man rummage in a chest. Oh boy _two_ books for Ranboo to have!? Sure, one would just be for horse care, but still! Another book! For him! And it would be his (sort of)! 

Ranboo took it, thanking him, and tried not to be too obnoxiously delighted over being handed the leatherbound pages. He covered his mouth, but couldn’t quite bite down on all his vocalizations.

He was just!! Happy!!! A whole second book, wow! He thumbed over the leather binding, tracing the satisfying texture, and stroked black fingers over pale pages as he flipped it open and stared down the oddly alluring blankness of a new journal. He couldn’t remember a time when his own had been new. Pristine. Not yet touched. He startled himself when his wagging tail swung so hard it bapped into a nearby wall. 

He jerked his head down, shoulders hunched in mortification, because his master had _seen_ that, had snorted when Ranboo jumped.

“C’mon. Let’s put that book to use.”

Ranboo took diligent notes. That’s what he was being given the book _for,_ so he needed to be good and use it right, this was a _privilege,_ given for a _use,_ so he would be good he would be so good.

“Should probably comb out your tail,” the man mentioned, and Ranboo stepped on the tufted end self-consciously. He hadn’t even been aware it had started wagging again. Well, more like gentle thumping against the ground, but still. Jittery. Annoying.

“Easy.” The man placed a (big) hand on Ranboo’s shoulder, Ranboo’s little fangs digging into his lip, body locked tense and staring vacantly ahead. “Just an observation.”

Ranboo nodded, but kept his tail pinned until they left the stable. He wasn’t some stupid kid, he should act better. He _would,_ because he wanted to give this man only his very best.

Inside, Ranboo helped the man sort his belongings into the chests, which Ranboo was admittedly not very good at. Chest organization was not his strong suit, and he wasn’t even sure if that had anything to do with being half-Enderman. He was pretty sure he just sucked.

The day had been another long one. Ranboo was pretty sure this man worked exclusively hard days. They ate and the man taught Ranboo how to alter clothes. Ranboo hadn’t (that he remembered) been part of any taskforce that did mending, and there were a lot more components than Ranboo had assumed at first glance.

“Sir?”

“You can just ask questions, you don’t have to say ‘sir?’ every time.”

“Sorry.”

The man shrugged.

“Um, can I write this down in the horse book?”

“I do not care.”

Ranboo’s lips pressed thin, but he nodded. He took notes about sewing a page after the horse stuff, to keep it organized.

The clothes fit him perfectly, after they were finished, and the man had even sewn an inventory into them, a luxury not generally afforded to slaves. Ranboo settled his precious books into the slots and ran his hands up and down the sturdy fabric, tail twitching childishly and making happy vocalizations. He was on the other side of the room from the man, and kept his volume low, and his master hadn’t stopped Ranboo so far. So maybe it was okay if he just kept doing it?

Ranboo shot to his feet when the man approached. He waved Ranboo off, but Ranboo wasn’t sure what that _meant_ here. Though kind, Ranboo’s new master had not given him much in terms of expected behavior.

“So, I’ve got a friend who ran into trouble right before they came for me,” he stated as he began fiddling with the brewing stands again, “I gotta head out in the morning and go get him.”

Ranboo nodded, pulling out his memory book and writing _man leaves to retrieve friend_

“Take care of Carl while I’m gone, yeah?”

_ take care of horse _

“Other than that, just try not to let any creepers in the house. I should only be gone for a few days, a week tops.” The man set the finished potions into a nearby chest, and started in on new ones.

“After that, uh, there’s a village not too far from here. Found it this morning. If you want, after I’m back and can look after Carl on my own, I could drop you off there. See if you can’t live a normal life.”

Ranboo couldn’t move.

Ranboo couldn’t breathe.

No, no, no no no no no no no, no, please, no, not, he, he _had_ been bad after all, then, hadn’t he? Just because the man hadn’t scolded him didn’t mean Ranboo could get away with, with, eating and vocalizing and wagging and being a worthless nuisance Ranboo should have known better _Ranboo should have known better_ he should have known this was too good to be true, that kindness this grand would have an expiration date looming overhead, he’d been _hopeful_ of all things and Ranboo thought he was past the stupid urge to have hope and now he was going to be—not even sold, _discarded._ Left for whoever would find Ranboo and pick him up first. He was going to be abandoned, thrown away like so much trash, left out in this awful cold and if no one else wanted him he would die in it and—

“...eathe, breathe kid, c’mon try to breathe for me.”

Ranboo reached up with shaking hands and clung to the man’s arms. He was distantly aware that he wasn’t really standing, more that he was being held up. He was also distantly aware that the man was _so close._ And that he wanted Ranboo to breathe.

Ranboo tried.

He tried so hard. He always tried so hard, but he always failed and failed and _failed!_

“I—” he choked, gasping frantically.

“Don’t talk,” the man ordered gently, “Just try to breathe right now, yeah?”

“Sorr—” Ranboo tried again, because he was sorry, he was _sorry,_ he needed to say that, needed to beg for forgiveness, he _had_ to!

“Follow my breathing,” the man ordered, and took loud, deliberate, heavy breaths. Ranboo tried, his breathing sharp and short and nowhere near what was being demanded of him. He couldn’t, he _couldn’t_ and this failure was just going to be added to the list of his shortcomings, all the reasons why nobody would bother to keep a stupid, useless, pathetic little half mob like him.

Ranboo’s head spun, light headed from no air and new motion, as the man slowly set him down on the wooden floor. His ears were ringing, his vision going all weird, and he only caught every other word the man said to him. Something about his back?

He moved away and Ranboo keened, distorted and inhuman. Now came the pain. Now it came. Ranboo had disobeyed a direct order and was being a panicky mess, and there wasn’t a punishment room to lock him in here, leave him in the dark and silence until his own shallow breathing knocked him out and he was forced to calm down. So the whip, then.

“Bite this.”

The man held something to Ranboo’s mouth and he obeyed on instinct, expecting maybe a gag or—

_Horrible_ flavor burst across Ranboo’s tongue and he yelped, scrambling back, mouth hanging open and saliva dripping off his pointed teeth as the juice from— _what_ had he just bitten?

His system seemed to go into momentary shock, pulled from his panic by sheer and utter bewilderment (and distaste, god, that was _awful_ ).

He blinked and focused in on the man’s hand, which held—a lemon. He’d bitten into a lemon. He licked his lips and swallowed hard, breathing labored but no longer frantic. A lemon. Yeah, yeah, okay, now that his brain was catching up, yeah, it tasted like lemon. Sour and acidic.

To call Ranboo baffled would be an understatement.

“Can you breathe deep for me?” the man asked, and Ranboo took a slower, shuddering breath. He nodded and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Okay, keep doing that.”

Ranboo nodded again, breathing as slowly as he could. He blinked as the lemon was settled into his own palm, a pointy, deep bite mark scoring the skin. He guessed he should bite it again, if he started spiraling. 

“Th-thank—sorry, sorry, I’m sorry,” Ranboo murmured, flinching when a heavy hand settled in his hair.

But the man just ruffled it, and the warm touch was, nice. Still kind. Still, somehow, impossibly, _still_ kind.

“It was just an offer,” the man said when Ranboo had, maybe halfway, settled down. “You can turn it down. I don’t mind.”

“You’re, you’re not throwing me out?” Ranboo asked, bewilderment resurging, because even after _all of that—?_

“Nah, kid, just wanted to let you know you have options. You don’t gotta stick around longer than you want. Except for feeding Carl, I do need you to hang around that long.”

Ranboo nodded.

“I don’t—I don’t, um, I want—” he felt the full body shudder, and with the man’s hand in his hair he was sure he felt it too, his body’s rejection of the idea that he was ever allowed to _want_ anything, “—to stick around?” Was that right? Was that the right way to say it?

The man shrugged. “Okay.”

And that was that.

Even after he’d soothed his racing heart and stopped the panicked breathing, Ranboo felt _exhausted._ Like he’d run a mile for every minute he spent being a stupid cowardly mess. The man shooed him off to bed, saying he’d be right after once the potions were done, and Ranboo gratefully obeyed.

_panicked, lemon bite, still being kind to me, not kicking me out(?)_

Maybe while the man was gone Ranboo would read over his memories and condense them. Honestly, he might just… erase most of what happened with his old master, except for the important things. He wouldn’t need to remember any of it now, right? Except what if they came for the man again, like they had with the ruined farmhouse, and Ranboo was sent _back?_

The fear that flooded him at that idea threatened to trigger another panic, but he was either too tired, or not fearful enough, so he just shook his head and shook his head and kept shaking his head until he was dizzy and his ears went all bloodrushed and the repetitive motion soothed him down from that self inflicted scare. They’d travelled a day through the Nether. Nobody knew where they were (least of all Ranboo, and he was physically present). And the man was strong, a good fighter, he wouldn’t lose a second time.

He slipped his book back into his inventory and stayed awake exactly long enough for the man to descend the ladder and climb into his own bed, firelight casting his silhouette in shadow. Ranboo stared at the shape of him, large and blocking out the flames. He wanted—it wasn’t his place to _want_ anything but he wanted. He wanted to. He.

The bed he was in had a soft woolen blanket, it was warm, it was more comfortable than what he usually slept in. Last night had been a one-off thing. The product of exhaustion and not having the time or effort to make Ranboo a sleeping place of his own. Now he had one. He should sleep.

He’d gone longer stretches of time without contact than this. It was actually pretty unprecedented, that he was touched at all, except to correct him. He shouldn’t expect it or wish for it to be a regular thing. He shouldn’t stare longingly at the lip of his master’s mattress and ponder how he was just thin enough that he could probably lie there without falling off. He shouldn’t entertain thoughts of slipping out from under his own covers and begging to be let back under the man’s. He wasn’t a _child_ curling up in his parents’ bed after a nightmare, he was a slave and he was trying to be a good one.

He rolled over and pulled his pillow in against his chest, hugging it tightly with his knees and tail curled in around it.

When the man was gone in the morning, Ranboo was not surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who left a comment on this fic! They really do just make my day <3

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/constructive criticism always welcome <3


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